Hatchling
by Miss Mungoe
Summary: It was safe to say that when his son presented him with his first grandchild, Metalicana was not impressed. – GaLe, mirror-story to 'Mate'.
1. debut

AN: This spawned out of nowhere during breakfast. It's the first of (maybe) several grumpy Grandpa!Metalicana fics. I hope you enjoy the mental image as much as I do.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

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**Hatchling**

**by Miss Mungoe**

Humans were such frail creatures.

Any dragon could tell you the same. Humans were small and soft and so easy to simply _break._ Emotional, too – many wore their hearts in plain sight, making themselves easy targets even for their own kin. What they lacked in bodily protection they made up for with their self-made armours, a handling of metal so poor it was almost insulting. And yet _they_ imagined themselves the greater species, crafting everything they would ever need or want, but completely oblivious to the greater scheme and the things going on around them. For some life was just an endless dance of habitual repetition; they didn't even stop to consider what they could do, the heights they could reach, if they put their minds to it. And the ones that did often failed to reach any kind of potential, brought down either by their own arrogance or their own insecurities. Sometimes, sprawled as he was on the lone crag that he called his home, it was hard to imagine them as anything but insignificant ants scuttling around on the ground below.

His son had been like that, too, before he'd taken him in. Small, weak, but with a temper that had amused him enough to stick around after that first encounter. He'd been a rough little brat with too much attitude - Metalicana had thought he'd had that forcibly knocked out of him, but it had grown back, somehow. But that didn't really matter. His son was strong, and he wielded iron like it _should_ be wielded. Not like the human smiths who called themselves masters of the trade. Human arrogance was the key to their downfall – it was downright laughable sometimes, the lies they fed themselves and each other.

But then, Metalicana had always had a thin patience for humans. Other than Gajeel, he hadn't met many to convince him that they weren't anything but weak little pests. Gajeel was different, but then his son was a dragonslayer, and if you put the two alongside one another, there was a clear gap between them in nearly all aspects. Dragonslayers, Metalicana could respect. Not because of their powers – real dragons were significantly more powerful, when it came down to it. No, it was because it took certain _character_ to host power like that. It took a level head and a good grip of one's sanity to keep it under control. Gajeel had that, and even if he'd had no discipline or manners to go along with it, he was still levels above many of his kin.

And he'd always been proud of it, too. He suspected it might have been the boy in him desiring a father, but there had always been a proud set to his son't shoulders whenever Metalicana had taken it upon himself to teach him something new. Of course, along with the fierce pride, he'd harboured an equally fierce dislike for weakness, which had manifested in his behaviour towards other humans. Before he'd left, Metalicana hadn't thought much about it. Hell, who could blame him? He'd been left on the street, abandoned to die in the gutters of some forsaken village with nothing to his name but the rags on his back. He'd been an angry child, and an even angrier adolescent, and he suspected that after he'd left, he'd grown into an angry young man.

An angry young man with a deep-rooted hatred for his own species.

So it hadn't surprised him when he'd first heard rumours of his brat's exploits. Because really, what else had he expected? He'd done no better than his human parents – he'd up and left without a word. And even if he'd left him well-equipped and able to provide for himself, the guilt that had struck him had been as unfamiliar as it had been unnerving. There had even been a point when he'd entertained the idea of his son coming after him, with the intent to utilise his powers for what they'd been meant for. He had a damn good reason, and once angered, he had the animosity necessary to spur him into making decisions most would find revolting. It wouldn't have been surprising if he'd hunted him down with the intent to kill.

But then the rumours had changed – _warped_, as it were. He hadn't been surprised to discover that he'd tracked down Igneel's brat, but that they'd joined forces had almost made him laugh at the incredulity. And then the name 'Fairy Tail' arose from the eagerly muttered voices of the cities, and mingled amongst the praise was a name he'd only ever thought he'd hear muttered like a curse. And he'd been strangely proud. Igneel had had a good laugh at his expense, and even Grandine had quirked a smile, and then he'd threatened to encase them both in molten metal if they didn't shut up.

But to himself, he could admit, he had been proud. Proud that his brat had gotten over his self-righteous hatred and found allies, because if he'd been alone, Metalicana doubted he'd have survived the disaster that had struck them all.

But he had survived. And the first time he'd laid eyes on his son after his disappearance, he had been forcibly struck with the nature of humans, because it wasn't a brat standing before him anymore, grinning that familiarly fanged grin, but a man. He'd let his hair grow long and hadn't grown out of his damn fascination with piercings, but the last fact had been a strange comfort for a father who hadn't seen his kid in over two decades. He was taller than he'd been, too, and towered over many of his fellow mages, especially the little one that stood close enough to catch Metalicana's attention.

He'd made a note of her at the time – the tiny blue-haired one who lingered too close for casual acquaintance and with a smile on her face that betrayed a happiness too deep-rooted for a mere companion. The bond had already started to take shape even then, and so he'd known what to expect long before the news had reached him years later. And yet...he'd been surprised. Surprised at his son's _choice_ of mate. And why shouldn't he have been? She was half his size and when he'd asked what her skills were, Gajeel had grinned and told him, reeking of pride,

"She reads."

'Reads', meaning 'tomes'. Humans' strange way of keeping their knowledge from slipping through their fingers. Of course, with a poor memory like theirs, it was hardly a bad idea; even he could admit that, even if he couldn't fathom why his son would go for such a mate. True, his own mate had been small for a dragon when she had still been alive, and there was something distinctly feminine about lithe lines in a female, but _his_ mate had also been a fierce companion in battle, and with strength to rival even himself.

Shorty – for that was what Gajeel called her – didn't even look like she could _lift_ the tomes she read.

But his son had been very enthusiastic about it all, and who was he to complain, when his brat was happy and with a prospering future? Never mind the fact that he'd used to loathe the physically weak with a vengeance. But even while Metalicana had had his doubts, the proud grin on his son's face had been enough to settle them, and he'd found that, with humans, strength was a relative concept, and measured as often in wits as in physical prowess. And when it came to the former, Shorty carried a knowledge that surpassed what he'd thought the human mind could properly grasp. And the fact _had_ been a little impressive. He knew it must have shown in his expression, because Gajeel had looked a right prideful little bastard during the rest of their visit, and Metalicana had been loath to spoil his fun.

The next time they'd visited, the little one had been heavy with child, and throughout their little social call thoughts about their unborn child had bothered him more than he'd have liked to admit. He hadn't had any hatchlings of his own in any of his many centuries but for the cheeky little street rat he'd taken under his wing on a whim. The street rat who was now standing before him, grinning the proud smile of a father and with a shape hiding behind his legs so small that Metalicana had to bend his muzzle all the way down to the ground to get a good look at it.

He snorted, a puff of breath escaping his nostrils, and the hatchling flinched, small hands grasping the fabric of her father's trousers. Gajeel only laughed, and stepped out of the way, urging the littlest one forward. In the background, the mother stood, a wary smile on her face as she watched, ready to interfere if anything were to go awry.

Tilting his head, Metalicana regarded the hatchling with narrowed eyes. "She hides," he snorted, taking in the way she stubbornly remained behind her father's legs.

No, it was safe to say, presented as he was with his first grandkid, that Metalicana was _not_ impressed.

The thought had barely registered, however, when she suddenly shot forward, stepping away from her hiding place with a mighty frown marring her features. Two large brown eyes set above a tiny, scrunched-up nose in a face surrounded by bright blue hair, she met his gaze squarely.

"M'not af'waid!"

The sounds of their language were amateurish at best, but her message was more than clear, and he knew the surprise was evident on his features, because Gajeel threw his head back with another laugh, and even the mother quirked a smile at the display.

Metalicana huffed, taking in the fiercely furrowed eyes and the arrogant stance. "She looks like you," he said to his brat, and even if she didn't physically, what with her tiny shape and her bright blue hair, there was no mistaking the arrogant set to her shoulders and the raised chin.

Gajeel grinned. "Aa." The delight in his entire stance would have been evident for miles, Metalicana knew, and shook his head.

"That wasn't necessarily a compliment."

"Still taking it as one, Pops."

"Tch. Insolent punk," he grumbled, but there was a fondness there he couldn't have hid even if he'd tried.

"Pops?"

He blinked, before his eyes were once again claimed by the littlest shape amongst the three standing before him. It was she who'd spoken, not Gajeel, and she was still looking at him, her head tilted in thought. Then she looked at her father, her brows furrowing even further, making her look more angry than inquisitive. The mother smiled, coming forward to kneel beside her offspring. Her belly wasn't nearly as large as it had been last time, but the slight swell was easily noticeable, and if he strained his ears he could hear the heartbeat – a soft thud-thud-thud, almost but not quite in tandem with her own.

"It means 'Dad'," she explained, ever the voice of an educator, Metalicana thought with a smirk. "Like Daddy."

The littlest one looked up at him again, then back to her father, nose scrunched up in a way eerily similar to the woman kneeling beside her. "Not possible," she declared then, after a moment of contemplative silence, her big eyes blinking furiously. And she regarded them all as though they were trying to pull wool over her eyes. "Mama lying."

Metalicana snorted. "Clever–"

"Shhh!"

He stopped, caught so severely off guard by her interruption that he forgot what he'd been about to say. For her part, she was holding up one small hand, an indignant look on her face. "M'thinking," she declared, emphasising it in a way that made it sound as though he'd tried to desecrate something holy.

He grumbled, "Cheeky little brat, ain't she?"

Gajeel's grin seemed to know no limits. "Takes after her mother," he had the gall to suggest, and the little one scoffed, nudging him as she rose from her squat.

"Next you'll be saying she gets her attitude from me too, hmm?" she asked, and in their brief interaction, the littlest one seemed to have come to the conclusion that she'd lost their attention, and would therefore seek to regain it by doing something daring, as children were prone to do in that age. Wandering closer, but keeping a wary eye trained on him at all times, she came to the point where she had to crane her neck to look up at him. Metalicana felt curiosity nudging at his mind despite himself.

"And what do you think you're doing?"

He didn't know what he'd expected, but for her to reach out to gently probe one of his scales, before asking, in a curiously interested voice, 'Can I eat you?' was _not_ it.

"And how would you go about doing that?" he asked, amusement creeping into his voice despite himself. He'd moved his head so as to look at her better, and surmised that beside his enormous bulk, she looked even tinier than she had next to her parents. She'd be like her mother, that much was clear even now.

And he didn't know what he thought about that.

"Can I climb?" she asked then, surprising him again, and he peered down at her.

"If you can reach," he found himself saying, the words teasing, and the disgruntled look on her face was almost enough to make him snort a laugh.

"I can too!" she exclaimed, and before he'd gathered his wits, she'd taken off, and was halfway up his tail before her mother caught on to what she was up to.

"Gajeel!" she made a grab for her mate's elbow.

For his part, Gajeel only grinned. "You okay up there, kiddo?" he called.

Scrambling up his tail, she flashed a fanged grin. "Aa!"

The mother looked worried, but Gajeel only crossed his arms over his chest. "Kid wants to get to know ya, Pops. Don't let 'er fall."

Metalicana snorted. "As if I would." The drop would severely injure, if not kill her, small as she was, and despite his bravado there was a tenseness to his son's stance that betrayed a focus so intense, Metalicana knew he'd be moving to catch her at the slightest sign of her losing her grip.

But he had no intention of letting his grandchild drop to her death. He knew this with a near overwhelming certainty, even as her small hands grabbed onto his scales with a grip that would have slipped, had she not had the propensity for manipulating metal that he'd sensed the minute she'd touched him. He wondered idly if her parents were aware.

It didn't take her long before she was on his back, eagerness shining in her eyes now that she was certain of his relative safety. He felt like smiling, because she was so much like her father in that regard, it was almost ridiculous. Suspicious to the point of hostility until trust was earned, and then the trust was so wholehearted, it was staggering in its sheer capacity.

"Mama! Mama, look!"

The mother waved back, brows creased with worry, and Metalicana smirked. There was a spike there, in her heartbeat, and the open promise of violence if anything were to happen to her hatchling. She might not even realise it, how much her entire stance reeked of dragon, or the way she kept her hands almost subconsciously laced over the swell of her stomach. Dragon mothers were said to be the fiercest of creatures, and he wondered briefly what had passed along in the mating, and if she was quite as human as she had used to be.

The patter of small feet was an echo in his ears as the littlest one manoeuvred over his great back, inching along the metal-rimmed ridges of his scales as she searched out a safe passage. There was something...nostalgic, almost, about the game she played, and he yet again found himself thinking back to the little runt who had tried to climb him without his consent. The same runt had gotten himself a good long fall and a sharp meeting with the ground, and back then Metalicana had hoped it would knock some sense into him. He was almost ashamed to admit, he hadn't considered the damage the fall could possibly do to a human. But Gajeel had always struck him as stronger than that, even if it had probably just been his general attitude towards pain at the time. Back then, he'd been human, not a dragonslayer. Vulnerable, if not averse to admitting it. And though he had survived the fall with nothing worse than a few bruises and a sharp curse, Metalicana knew with an almost staggering certainty that he could not let the hatchling on his back endure the same. _Would_ not let her, because she would not survive it.

Meeting his son's eyes, he saw the warning, and nodded his head slowly, acknowledging it. Gajeel smirked then, and the little one at his side seemed to relax as well, shoulders losing some of their tension, and the action made him realize how much he'd forgotten about the bond between mates, in his decades alone. Of course she'd sensed the tension in his son – Gajeel's memories had no doubt fuelled it enough to make her subconsciously wary of the same danger.

Meanwhile, oblivious to what passed between her elders, the little hatchling had managed to get halfway up his neck. The juvenile joy of the simple height provided by her new perch seeped through his scales, and he felt a strange sort of fondness swell somewhere inside him at this odd little creature.

"So whaddaya think, Pops?" the voice of his son reached his ears, and he turned his gaze to the pair.

He snorted, but it lacked it's usual edge. "She's got guts."

"Damn straight she does," Gajeel agreed, shoulders straightening. Metalicana's eyes glinted, and he gauged his son's reaction for his next question.

"And does she _read?"_

What happened next was something he knew he'd remember long after his bones had decayed and all that inhabited the earth was the remnants of his spirit. For while pride had been evident before, now it expanded like a living thing, and the smile on his boy's face left no room for even a sliver of doubt. And the fact that his son – the perpetually angry, badly mannered and vindictive young man he had left all those years ago – could present his daughter, a dragonling the size of a _pea_, and act as though he genuinely believed she was the greatest creature to ever grace the earth with her presence, was almost enough to make an old dragon sentimental.

And though the next words out of his brat's mouth were words he'd never thought he'd hear from him, they were also the words that truly convinced Metalicana that sometime in the last two decades, his boy had grown up.

"Hell yeah she _reads_! She's the smartest brat in the whole damn guild!" His eyes gleamed. "Ain't that right, munchkin?"

"Damn st'waight!" came the reply from somewhere near his ear, and he grinned at the look of horror that settled on the mother's face. Gajeel burst out laughing, and Metalicana could only marvel at the dysfunctional little clan his son had made for himself. Shorty must be thinking the same, for she shook her head, a patient smile on her face.

"My son is not the best influence, I'm afraid," he grumbled in way of joking apology.

"Oye, now," Gajeel interjected, but the smirk on his face betrayed his irritation. "Shorty's influence is more than enough to cancel it out, anyway," he added. "She'll have her translating runes and shit in no time."

Metalicana would have shaken his head, had it not been for the small form currently attached to it. She'd scrambled up the last gap, and was now clinging to the back of his head, and a sound of wonder escaped her as she gazed out over the top and onto the ground far below. Her excitement was palpable, and it thrummed from the palms of her hands and through his veins.

And in that moment, perched as she was on his head like a fully-fledged dragonling, Metalicana found that his initial assessment of the girl may have been a bit misplaced. And that maybe – maybe – her form had little to do with the spirit it housed.

And as she leaned down, almost consiprationally, near his ear, any doubts he'd had about her nature were swiped away by the soft question uttered in the next moment,

"...can we _fly_?"

And for the first time in a long time, Metalicana threw back his head, hatchling still attached,

and _laughed_.

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AN: Good grief, this thing had me giggling like a schizo halfway through. And damn it, I wish my grandparents were dragons...


	2. honour

AN: Grumpy grandpa!Metalicana won't get out of my head now. And I was going to spam your ask box, **Afton,** but thought I'd give you this instead, because you are ten different kinds of awesome and deserve equally awesome days. And grumpy old dragons. So this is for you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

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"_**Graaaaaaaaaaaaamps!"**_

The ear-deafening shriek drew him out of his slumber, and he lifted his head wearily from where he'd been dozing on his crag. It was early, even for humans, but the hour of the morning seemed to have little effect on the tiny creature hurtling towards him through the trees of the sprawling green valley below.

Amusement rumbled in his chest, and he lifted his wings, stretching languidly before taking off from his perch to glide down amongst the trees, finding the appropriately sized clearing with little effort after so many times. He reached it before she did, but only just, for as he folded his wings the bushes ahead rustled as she all but threw herself forward and out into the open space.

"Gramps! Gramps!"

She stopped in front of him, hands on her small knees and so out of breath she was gasping for air. He tilted his head in silent amusement at her antics. When she lifted her head from where it was all but tucked between her knees, the fanged grin splitting her face was as bright as the sun above them. Her hair was longer than the last he had seen her, and fell about her face in a wild tangle that made her mother's hair look manageable. At the age of five human years, Arumi Redfox had more cheek than both her parents combined, and the adventurous spirit of a hatchling equivalent to that of a dragonling eager to fly before it could walk.

"You did not say you were coming for a visit," he rumbled in mock reprimand, and she only laughed.

"Surprise!" she declared as she straightened, breathless, and he took notice of how she'd finally mastered the human tongue. And even if she'd risen to her full height, he noted that she hadn't grown any taller, but the year that had passed since her first visit was showing in other ways. She looked more alert – more _cunning_, perhaps the right word was. The change from the toddling creature that had scrambled up his back was startling, and yet again he had to remind himself that humans aged at a different pace than dragonlings.

"And what brings you here, youngling?" he asked, although he had an inkling already before her parents made their way into the clearing. Raising his eyes from the little hatchling, Metalicana found them resting on the little one as she entered, Gajeel at her shoulder. He had received news of the birth some months ago, but had yet to meet the newest hatchling, who by the sounds of it, had just awoken. Nestled against its mother's chest in an intricately wrapped piece of cloth, the new youngling was making its discomfort evident.

"Pops!" Gajeel grinned as they came to stand next to their eldest, although he made no move to step forward, keeping instead close and behind his mate. The subtle action of keeping her in his sight was enough to make the old dragon snort.

"Brat," he greeted, but where he'd resented it when he was younger, Gajeel now only grinned at the endearment. Shaking his great head, Metalicana turned his nose towards the mother and her bundle.

"Little one."

Her smile was that of fond exasperation, and she bowed her head, as was the proper way of acknowledgement for a young dragon to its elder. _"Old one,"_ she greeted, the words of the ancient tongue as unexpected as the underlying cheek that coloured them. When she met his eyes, there was a smile on her face that told him she'd spent entirely too much time with his son.

He grumbled. "I will pretend I did not hear that." But the words held no real offense, just as her greeting had been nothing more than teasing. She only smiled at his remark, and Gajeel grinned from beside her, prideful of his little mate as always. Metalicana snorted.

"I am curious," he began, as he leaned his nose down to look at his son, who looked entirely too cheeky for his own good, "Have you any luck in teaching him the old tongue? He'd never sit still long enough for my lessons, the ungrateful brat."

The little one grinned, and opened her mouth, but was cut off before she could speak, _"He has no patience," _the hatchling said, the words clumsy but understandable, and she tilted her head as she looked at her mother with a toothy grin. "That's what Mama always says."

Gajeel spluttered, rounding on his mate. "Oye!"

The little one shrugged. _"He knows it. He feigns stupidity." _She raised a brow, giving her mate a sidelong look. _"Sometimes,"_ she added with a smirk.

Gajeel returned her raised brow with one of his own. "Watch yer tongue, shortstuff," he warned, but there was no real threat to the words. She only smiled, shaking her head fondly. Turning her gaze back to Metalicana, she stepped forward, past her eldest until she stood right in front of him, her small form dwarfed by his own looming shape. As for himself, Metalicana regarded her movements curiously, tilting his head as he watched her kneel on the grass. Reaching behind her back with one hand, she worked loose the knots of the cloth, while the other hand kept a secure grip on her youngest as she carefully lowered the wiggling bundle to the ground. Spreading the cloth across the grass, she sat back on her knees, and Metalicana lowered his great neck, leaning his muzzle close to the small creature nestled on the fabric before him. As his shadow fell over the little one and her hatchling, the youngling stopped its fussing, stilling completely as its eyes settled on the strange new sight towering above it.

It was a boy, although he'd known that long before Gajeel had brought news of the birth. And unlike the eldest with her bright blue hair, the thick tufts on this youngling's head were entirely dark. But the wide and curious eyes looking up at him were brown like the little one's.

Snorting a breath, the hatchling startled visibly as the sudden gust tousled the tufts of his head, before it scrunched its nose. But instead of crying out, it simply watched, but it's small brows had furrowed in a strangely suspicious look for such a young creature. Metalicana rumbled, genuinely amused at the sight.

"This one will be like you, brat," he announced, raising his eyes to his son. But Gajeel wasn't watching him; his gaze was fixed on the small form on the blanket, and he didn't even appear to have heard the remark. Metalicana smirked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Fathers.

The eldest was sitting on the edge of the blanket now, grinning excitedly at her younger sibling. There was a proud set to her shoulders, and her attention was claimed entirely by the tiny dark haired creature. It was the calmest Metalicana had seen her on all her visits, and he mused at the display of subtle protectiveness. Another little detail that was so undeniably dragon.

Turning his gaze from the hatchlings and to the mother still kneeling by the blanket, Metalicana rumbled, "Has he been named?"

Exchanging a look with her mate, the little one smiled, nodding, before she turned her gaze back to the old dragon. _"If you would do us the honour,"_ she said then, and despite the pride he took in his general aloofness, her words caught Metalicana so off guard he almost physically recoiled.

It was, perhaps, the single most unexpected thing anyone had ever said to him. Not even when a rough little boy had run after him so many years ago, screaming that he stay and teach him – the frightened cry of a lonely child masked only by the harsh and demanding words he'd used – had Metalicana been quite so surprised. And for a brief moment he wondered if they weren't playing a joke on him.

But there was nothing but genuine certainty in their eyes as they looked up at him, the little one where she knelt protectively before her young, and his son where he stood watchful behind her, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.

"Whaddaya say, Pops?" he asked then. The query held none of the respect of the little one's ancient and ritualistic words, but for Metalicana, it had the same, staggering impact.

And for the first time in his long, long life, the old dragon found himself rendered quite and thoroughly speechless.

The littlest one grinned, her fangs gleaming. "You get to choose, Gramps!" she declared then, feeling the need to elaborate, as though he had perhaps not understood what they were asking.

The little one tilted her head, visibly amused at his reaction. "Should we perhaps have sent a note in advance?" she asked, one brow raising in challenge, and there was that damnable cheek again. Metalicana grumbled, shaking his scaled form as he raised himself to sit back on his hind legs.

"Humans are such impulsive creatures," he rumbled. "I am old, little one. You must give your elders time to _think_."

She merely grinned at him, and it might have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn her canines looked sharper than what they should for a human. "My apologies, _old one," _she said then, and Gajeel threw back his head with a laugh.

"Ye're losin' yer touch, Pops, if ye're lettin' Shorty get the better of ya!"

"Watch your tongue, punk," he growled, to which his son's grin only widened.

The youngest hatchling made a noise then – enough to draw their collective attentions towards himself, and when Metalicana looked down he found the youngling had yet to take his eyes off him. Now that the sunlight fell on him, he found that his eyes weren't exactly like his mother's. In the light of the sun, they gleamed a dark red-brown beneath a furrowed set of thin, black brows. And again, the old dragon was struck by the sharp accuracy of the penetrating gaze. The eyes spoke of a cunning soul and a penchant for future mischief, and he would wager his entire hoard that the boy would grown up to be every inch his father's son. He wondered idly if he would grow tall and strong too, or if he would inherit his mother's small shape.

But as those encompassing eyes held his gaze squarely, Metalicana found that it mattered little. For despite her size, his son's mate had proven more than once that there was more to strength than physical prowess. Very few humans could speak the ancient tongues, and of those he had met that could, none were as learned as she. He didn't doubt his grandchildren would grow up well-learned in more than one unusual subject, and the thought pleased him, somehow. He doubted Igneel's brats would know half as much as his own when they came of age. And the thought had something long forgotten uncoiling within him. For a dragon who had had no hatchlings of his own save his unruly human brat, Metalicana had long since discarded any thought of preserving the ancient lore and knowledge dragons passed down to their young. He had known, even before he'd made the decision to leave his son all those years ago, that if the boy ever had children of his own, they would be human in every sense of the word, and the lives they would live and the culture they would surround themselves with would be the same. It was only natural, and he had been content with this fact. Dwelling on the past had only ever given him grief, so the thought of his late mate and the hatchlings they could have had, had been something he'd made a point not to think about. His lineage would die with him – he had resigned himself to this a long time ago.

But now his son's mate was looking up at him, the determination in her deep eyes an eerie echo of the small hatchling resting on the blanket before her. This creature, who spoke their tongue and preached their lore to her young without a second thought, and who abided by the ancient rituals and who had just asked him to _name their son_, had gone and turned his entire future on its head. This creature, small even by human standards and _minuscule_ by the standards of his own kind, was effectively disrupting his entire existence.

And by the smug look on her face, she was more than aware of this.

"_What say you?" _

She never took her eyes from his, and Metalicana regarded her closely for several long moments – the purposeful set to her small shoulders and the steel in her sharp gaze. And the thought struck him that he would not have been able to refuse her had he even wanted to, and he wondered idly how well those eyes worked on his son. Gajeel was as unbendable as the iron he wielded, but Metalicana knew by instinct the exact heat needed to coax certain metals into acquiescence. And the eyes still locked firmly with his own had enough fire to rival white-hot coals.

The symbolism was not lost on him, and he basked in the humour of it, wondering how irate his boy would be if he were to mention it. But something told him Gajeel was well aware of the hold the little one had on him, so he kept silent. Standing by her shoulder, an impenetrable pillar of strength in his little family, Gajeel once again reminded him that the irredeemable young man he'd left behind all those years ago didn't exist anymore. And as he took in the sight of his son's family – _his_ family, Metalicana was loath to breath the serenity of the image before him. He was not sentimental by any sense of the word, but he was a father, and a grandfather, and he found that, for all his years alone, the future that lay before him seemed like another world entirely.

"_The honour is mine,"_ he said then, and the little one's face lit up at the words, and she smiled, nodding her head. Turning his gaze away from hers, Metalicana came to look once again at the youngest hatchling where he lay, unaware of the happenings around him but seemingly alert to all that transpired, regardless. Lowering his muzzle all the way down to the ground, he watched not without a twinge of fascination as the youngling continued to regard him closely. He lay completely still, and didn't even make a sound as the old dragon gently nudged him with the very tip his nose. The action had little effect on the boy; all he did was continued to watch him with that calculating look.

And Metalicana knew.

Raising his head, although never taking his eyes away from his newest grandchild, the name manifested itself in his mind, dug forth from a knowledge of ancient tongues than ran deeper than any human scriptures could ever hope to duplicate. And although he was not looking at the mother as he spoke, he knew the meaning would not be lost on her. The child with the eyes of a hawk.

"_Gawain."_

* * *

AN: Because 'raven' would just be ironic. And 'Arumi' because Aluminium. You get it? 'Cause it's a _metal_? Hehe...he. Yes.


	3. sustain

AN: Because being a grandfather is so much more than just watching from afar.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does.

* * *

The next time she came to visit, she didn't come running.

He had not expected them, but then, Gajeel never did give any hints if they were thinking about dropping by, or any warning whenever they did. But Metalicana didn't mind – time passed at a different pace for dragons than it did for humans, and he appreciated the pleasant surprise in his usual routine. It wasn't something he would ever have imagined adapting to, isolated as much of his life had been for the past two decades, but he'd found that he didn't much mind the interruption.

The day had so far been a very pleasant one, and the afternoon sun was warm on his back as he basked on his perch. Contrary to Igneel's jokes that he preferred the dark, Metalicana had a great appreciation for sunlight. And with his metal-rimmed scales, which absorbed the heat delightfully, there was little he liked better than to laze about in good weather. He'd noticed their approach long before they'd even neared the clearing, as his ears were almost always alert for the sound of their footsteps. His son's he could pick out from a mile away – brash, stalking steps that demanded as much attention as the man they belonged to, cutting a path through the trees with a tang of arrogance that never failed to have him rolling his eyes. The little one was the complete opposite with her jaunt, cheerful strides, and he could almost always tell she was with child, or if she was carrying one of her young just by the change in her pace. On the last few visits her steps had been measured, if not without a small 'waddle' as Gajeel had taken to calling it, much to her chagrin.

And the littlest one always ran; paces ahead of her parents, and with a quick and careless grace that he had come to recognize her by. She was a bundle of barely contained energy on the best of days, and had trouble sitting still, much to her mother's fond exasperation. Her steps were always light, almost jittery, and always brimming with anticipation, as though she couldn't quite wait to reach their destination.

But she wasn't running this time.

Settling down into the clearing, the great dragon shifted his weight as he made himself comfortable, and tried to ignore the near ominous apprehension that had come over him. There was something deeply unsettling about the steps approaching him, but he could not quite figure out what it was. He could pick out Gajeel's steps, as always, but they were lacking their usual confidence, and there wasn't a shred of the usual arrogance thrumming along the edge of his senses. They seemed...subdued, almost. As though his son was purposefully stalling. He couldn't pick out the little one at all – in fact, as far as his ears could tell, there were only two sets of footsteps approaching him; his son, and the eldest hatchling. A shiver of discontent ran down his great spine at the prospect, and when the bushes rustled ahead and they entered the clearing, his fears were confirmed.

Gajeel entered first, which was an oddity in and of itself, and the old dragon felt something close to dread settle deep in his belly at the dark look on his son's face. There were shadows under his eyes, and his general stance brimmed of something akin to...regret? It was hard to tell. Human emotions had always been a foreign concept to him, but he had enough experience to tell some of the more primal ones apart. But his own assessment did little to remove the heavy weight of dread that had settled over the clearing.

Close behind his son came the eldest hatchling, and Metalicana was at once struck at how much she had grown, even in the past few months. She wasn't much taller, even now, and her shape was growing with the awkward pace of the first human decade. Coming to stand beside her father, he noticed she was yet to greet him, let alone raise her head from where it was bowed. Next to Gajeel, she looked incredibly small, and the old dragon was reminded, startlingly, of the first time he had laid eyes on the little dragonling. Admittedly, she had been hiding _behind_ her father at the time, but she was close enough now to underline the fact that something was terribly _wrong_. On all their other visits, she would be climbing his tail at this point, or so eager in retelling the latest events of her life that she'd be gasping for breath.

But she hadn't spoken a word since they'd entered, and it was a testament to how much he'd adapted to her chatter, that the fact deeply disturbed him.

"What has happened?"

The directness of the question took neither by surprise, but then, he'd never been one to beat around the bush, and he suspected they both knew that. Igneel always called him an unsentimental bastard, and he'd never argued for anything else. He didn't see the point in stalling a conversation, no matter how difficult. Even now, with his son and his grandchild standing before him looking like the world had ended, he was loath to prolong the tension. And then there was the deeply unsettling fact that their silence was frightening in its severity – a sensation he had not experienced in _years_.

Neither seemed eager to answer his question, and the hatchling seemed to shrink in on herself, her sharp teeth clamping down on her bottom lip. Gajeel looked weary, which was a bad sign on a good day, in Metalicana's experience with the boy. Anger he was familiar with, and could interpret better than most people who knew him. But what plagued his brat now...

A thought struck him then – clamped around his black heart in a near-suffocating grip as his mind wrapped itself around the prospect.

No_._ It wasn't possible. Not _her_, surely?

"The little one is not with you."

The words sounded hoarse, even to his own ears, even as his mind fought to keep up with his thoughts. She couldn't–

No. Surely not. His son would not be so calm, let alone fit to travel such a distance, if that were the case. He knew from experience the devastating effects of losing a mate – had been effectively incapacitated for _months_ after...

Even now, the mere thought was difficult to finish. It was an ache that never quite went away – that would never go away, he was certain. Some dragons succumbed completely, but Metalicana had always been too damn stubborn for that. Not to mention, she'd have never forgiven him, if he'd given up, which was partly what had kept him going for so long after her death. That, and the brat standing before him. The brat who looked close to the breaking point himself, and whose restraint was no doubt solely for the sake of the small shape huddled so close to him.

Gajeel's shoulders visibly tensed at the laden remark, but it wasn't his son who spoke up to answer it.

"Mom miscarried," came the surprisingly blunt reply; the small voice uncharacteristically hoarse, and all the while, she refused to raise her head to look at him.

Human expressions of speech were not his expertise, and he wondered briefly at her use of the word, but knowing her mother, it was hardly surprising she'd developed a grasp of her language beyond her short years. It took him a moment for the words to settle, and for him to connect a meaning to them, and when he did, the resulting pain was as unfamiliar as it was violent.

Gajeel visibly bristled at the words, but said nothing, and a grief so sharp it was tangible thrummed along the edges of Metalicana's senses. He had always been good at sensing what the boy was feeling, but now he wished he couldn't. The hatchling clenched her hands into fists, and the sting of salt on the air was sharp to his sensitive nose. Her small form trembled with pent-up emotions, and for the first time in his relatively long life, Metalicana had no idea how to proceed.

An image flickered past his mind's eye, of the little one on her last visit, smiling and with her small hands across her stomach in the gesture that was as fiercely protective as it was fond. That had been near two months ago, and already then had she been far enough along for him to have picked out a heartbeat. He had made a comment on the rapid expansion of their little clan, and she'd merely laughed and shared a look with her mate that had almost served to make Gajeel fidget.

Placing a hand on his hatchling's head, Gajeel tangled his fingers in the bright blue hair. "Shorty's recoverin'," he said then, his voice a deep rumble that bordered on a rasp. "Kiddo needs some time away from the city."

Metalicana nodded, acknowledging the unspoken request. "It's done."

Gajeel nodded, the brusque action betraying his supposed calm, and Metalicana felt suddenly and violently out of his depth. Grief clawed at his insides, a feeling he had only felt twice before in as many centuries, first when his young mate had met her premature end, and then when his son's presence had vanished from the face of the earth for the longest seven years of his life.

But _this_ grief...

"How is she?"

The question was a rumble in the small clearing, making the flowers tremble with the force of it. Gajeel sighed, the sound a heavy thing between them, and when he met his father's gaze, there was a suffering there so potent it was staggering.

"Not good."

The littlest one stiffened, but said nothing, and Metalicana was again acutely aware of the last time they had visited. The little hatchling had been eagerly doting on her brother, who had grown a considerable amount since the first time Metalicana had seen him. Still not old enough to walk, she'd lugged him around with the potent enthusiasm of an older sibling, glowing with pride to rival that of her father who lingered in the background with her mother. Shorty had not been feeling well, and the journey had been tiring. His son had hovered and she had been playfully indignant, claiming that she was _fine_. After all, she'd made the same journey whilst heavy with both her hatchlings in the past – there was nothing different with the new one, she was just tired.

The thought was a heavy one, and the memory of the fierce little mother was only further emphasised by the dark tension that clung to the two before him.

Finally, the hatchling looked at her father. "The train's gonna leave," she said, but Gajeel looked reluctant.

"You sure you gonna be okay, shrimp?"

The question was laden, and Metalicana knew he was asking for more than what he appeared to. The conviction in his words when he'd proposed she stay for a few days seemed forgotten. She nodded dully, and Gajeel gave her hair a good ruffle. When he pulled his hand away, however, she latched onto it. "Dad..."

For his part, he said nothing, only hoisted her up and let her bury her face in his neck, which was the single most un-Gajeel like thing Metalicana had ever seen his son do. A hiccup escaped her, and the sound was amongst the worst he'd ever heard, in all his encounters with humans. Once, he might have called it pitiful, but he'd learned enough about humans to know that visible sorrow was not necessarily a sign of weakness.

When she spoke next, her voice was muffled from where it was buried in the neck of her father's shirt, but for his hearing, they weren't any less discernible. "Can I be munchkin? Mom's the shrimp..."

Gajeel snorted, but the action carried none of the wry scorn it usually did. "Ye're even smaller than she is," he pointed out.

She shook her head. "Mom's still the shrimp."

Gajeel said nothing to that, but his grip tightened a fraction, before he set her back down. Kneeling down to make up for the height difference, he repeated his question. "Last chance, kiddo. You wanna stay?"

She nodded, wiping furiously at her eyes. "Will you take care of Mom?"

He nudged her forehead. "Always do."

Turning his head towards Metalicana, who had been watching the exchange with hooded eyes, Gajeel attempted a smile. "Take care of 'er, Pops."

He nodded. "Assure the little one that she is in good care."

His son's smirk was wry. "Will do. I'll bring 'em both next time," he said, and for a moment, a twinge of conviction broke through the grief.

Metalicana nodded. "If she is better."

"She will be."

He didn't know if it was because he truly believed so, or if he wanted it to be true, but the look on his face brooked no argument. Metalicana turned his attention to the hatchling standing before him, hands still trembling at her sides.

"Youngling," he spoke, and she looked up briefly, and he wondered how his son coped with two pairs of the exact same and overly expressive eyes. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. Words were humans' most common form of communication. He was a dragon, and even if he hadn't the slightest idea of how to deal with a hatchling who had lost a long expected and treasured sibling, he wasn't averse to _trying_.

"Come."

She looked at her father, as though seeking final permission, and Gajeel nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "Go. I'll be back in a few days." But even as he said the words, there was a reluctance there that would no doubt be impossible to erase, even if he had tried.

She nodded, almost absently, before turning back to Metalicana. "Gramps?" and her voice was very small when she spoke. He said nothing, only shifted his weight and curling his tail around his great bulk. The invitation was clear, but her movements were subdued as she made her way towards him. He did not know why is struck him as hard as it did – it wasn't like he'd expected her to amble forwards as she'd always done. Not now. The open wound would take time to heal, and for one such as she, perhaps longer.

A small hand reached out to touch one of his scales, and the emotion seeping through the faint contact should by rights be too much for such a small body to contain. But she bore it with a grim set to her brows that made him remember, once again, that she was not just her mother's daughter, but Gajeel's as well. And that despite her small form, there was more dragon in her than her appearance gave her credit for.

The climb up his back was familiar ground to her now, and it didn't surprise him that it took her almost no time at all. Rising to his hind-legs, he looked down at his son, who watched them with the wary concern of a father who has lost a child. And though Metalicana knew full well his son entertained no idea of his daughter being in any danger, he doubted that feeling would ever go away, now that it had manifested.

"She will be safe," he repeated, more for his son's sake than his own, and though the tension did not leave him completely, Gajeel seemed to relax visibly at the words. Unfolding his wings, Metalicana shifted his focus to the small shape huddled atop his head.

"Where to?"

She was silent for a moment, but then she spoke, and Metalicana found that if she'd asked him to fly across the entirety of Fiore, he wouldn't have been able to refuse.

"Can we go to the sea?"

There was something staggeringly innocent about the query, and Metalicana could only nod as he took to the air, gently at first, assuring himself that she had a good grip on his scales, before he stretched his wings in one great, powerful stroke, sending them soaring to the skies overhead. The forest shrunk beneath them, the tops of the trees blending into a sea of green amongst which his son was no doubt watching their ascent. He'd miss his transportation, no doubt, but then Metalicana knew better than to argue. In stead he angled his course towards the glittering horizon in the distance, marking the very edge of the kingdom.

Usually when he took her flying, she made so much noise it was almost difficult to concentrate, but now he found that her complete silence was even more distracting. He considered asking a question, but could not come up with any suitable topics.

"It's okay, gramps, you don't have to talk," came her voice then, close to his ear, and a rumble of dark amusement rolled through him at her perceptiveness.

"You enjoy talking," he countered.

Lowering herself so she lay practically on her stomach, her sigh was a heavy thing. "I know. Just...I don't need it right now."

He said nothing to that, and despite his weak grasp on the workings of the human heart, he found that he understood why Gajeel had brought her to him. For while his youngest had no doubt yet to understand what was happening, his eldest knew and understood perfectly. And though the littlest one spoke with nothing but pride about the guild she called home, perhaps the comfort of humans was not what she needed. But that was fine by Metalicana.

He was far from human.

"Perhaps," he began, his voice a low rumble along the ridge of his belly. Her ears perked at the sound, and he knew he had her attention. Angling his head towards her small shape, he met her gaze. "It is time you started your training."

The distinct widening of her brown eyes was enough to convince him. Not waiting for a verbal answer, he gave another stroke of his great wings. The horizon glittered, nearer now than it had been a moment ago, the winds carrying them forward with more speed than any human device of transportation could ever hope to duplicate.

He couldn't offer words of comfort to cushion her feelings. He was a dragon through and through, and though far from heartless, he had little knowledge of the remedies for human grief. She was a hatchling still, and her mental defences were still developing, and they would continue to for years still. Raising her to maturity and nurturing her cognitive devices, that was her parent's job. What he could offer her was something else entirely. He could give her bodily armour and scales of steel. Shape her into a protector, for the hatchlings to follow in her wake. He could give her the means to guard those which she held dear. Before leaving his son, he'd made sure he was capable of protecting himself. Now, he would give his granddaughter the means to protect others. Not from fate – that was a lesson she would still have to learn – but from the tangible dangers of their world. Some things were forever beyond mortal control.

But some things weren't, and he would teach her how to control them.

* * *

AN: Yeah, this wasn't very happy OR fluffy, but then, life isn't always like that. The important thing is to have someone to lean on when things get rough. Like a big badass dragon-grandpa.


End file.
